


Like Mother, Like Son

by Oplude (YoriMei)



Category: NG (Visual Novel)
Genre: Character Study, Family Relationships - Freeform, Gen, Hinted Amanome Seiji/Kijima Akira, Hinted Hazuki Kaoru/Kijima Akira, Minor Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21653218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoriMei/pseuds/Oplude
Summary: Natsumi takes a moment to ruminate on Akira Kijima and how even though they’re different, he reminds her greatly of her late sister, Satomi.Or, alternatively, you’ve all heard of Spirit Hunter: NG now get ready for Spirit Hunter: M(ilf) R(ights).
Relationships: Kijima Akira & Kijima Natsumi, Kijima Akira & Kijima Satomi, Kijima Natsumi & Kijima Satomi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	Like Mother, Like Son

**Author's Note:**

> If Natsumi Kijima gets to be boobilicious then Satomi Kijima gets to be bootilicious, no I do not take constructive criticism.

It was a typical evening in the Black Rabbit where the bar was completely empty. There were no customers, Ami was staying over with Akira and no looming deadlines. Natsumi was absolutely maudlin.

Sitting at the bar and watching the condensation slowly drip down the glass of whiskey she had poured herself, she gave herself a rare moment of relaxation and contemplation. The past few months had been a whirlwind of stress and worry on trying to find Ami.

During Ami’s disappearance, it had felt like the world was ending again, that it was her curse to be alone. After the passing of her mother and father, Satomi leaving her behind and her own husband dying, it felt like it was now Ami’s turn to leave her. Every waking moment was filled with the depressing feeling of inevitability. Those days, she barely slept, plagued by the idea that even Akira would go missing too.

She had choked on her despair the entire time, constantly visiting the police station, putting up missing posters and devouring any information that crossed her path rather than food. When Akira had started spending more time out with Seiji and Hazuki, even introducing her to Ban and Rosé who explained what had been going on, she was overjoyed that there had been an explanation, a lead in her sweet daughter’s disappearance. She had thrown herself into research, desperate to save Ami quickly and to aid Akira in anyway possible. She knew at this point though, if she ever lost both Akira and Ami in one fell swoop, she’d simply join the rest of them into the afterlife too.

The sheer relief that had flooded her chest when she had awoken at the hospital to the sight of Ami and Akira brought her to tears as she dragged both of them into a hug.

Even though Akira was her sister’s son and her nephew biologically, Natsumi had come to see Akira more and more as her own. She never thought she would be raising Ami by herself when her husband unexpectedly died. How ironic that both of them would become single parents, Natsumi mused while sipping on her whiskey. Their mother must be rolling in her grave and giving Satomi the lecture of a lifetime in the afterlife.

Running her fingers through her hair, she sighed as she looked down at her reflection on the counter. Quietly tracing over her own features, she muttered, “Satomi... are you keeping an eye over him?”

Back then, Satomi’s phone call and failing health had blindsided her. The cold fury she had felt when Satomi left her behind with their relatives only magnified when her eyes fell upon Satomi’s form for the first time in ten years, stuck in a worn down, messy apartment. A child, she had coldly spat at her, when you couldn’t even support yourself? When you know you’ve always been frail? What do you even have to say for yourself?

Only Satomi, stubborn as always, looked her in the eye and said “I love Akira more than anything, I’ll never regret having him.”

Natsumi had almost slapped her in rage right then and there. Since when did Satomi love anyone more than herself? Natsumi had thought viciously as she left the apartment. So easily ridding herself of their relatives, their pity, even her own sister who had been nothing but dead weight in Satomi’s eyes.

Forced to leave before she throttled her sister, it was then that she met Akira, almost running him over in her haste to leave. Her only impression of him at ten years old was a scrawny, but sullen child who glared at her for almost knocking into him. It wasn’t until her unannounced third visit that she catches him, watching through the window as he helped his mother with an unexpected gentleness into bed, tucking her in before going back to the kitchen to wash the dirty dishes that had been left in the sink.

When Satomi had finally passed away, Akira had taken the event stone faced but not stoically. His head down and fists clenched so tightly that they shook, the poor boy had looked so alone and so similar to her own form years ago that she was unable to help herself. She had placed her hand on his head and guided him to her bosom, and when he stiffened, continued to slowly pet him until he relaxed and leaned into her. His hair was just as soft, silky and thick as the hair on the head of the still, cold body next to them, and they both ignored the growing dampness on her shirt.

It would surprise many that her quiet, selfish but kind older sister and her hotheaded son were quite similar. Both of them headstrong and stubborn as a mule, neither of them were willing to accept the help of others until they were in dire straits and once an idea ran through their minds, they would see it to completion.

Satomi was adamant on living on her own, her intense hatred of the way their relatives threw pitying glances at them, the sympathetic coos and quiet whispers of “oh poor things” and “first they grow up motherless and now they’re fatherless”. The way everyone in the family gently danced around them, accommodating but always treating them like a spectacle.

It was fitting, she thought, playing with the water ring her glass left on the countertop, that her son was just as adamant on living apart from Ami and her as Satomi used to be. The surprise on Akira’s face when she had readily agreed brought a smile to her own, but the months of pleading and long draining arguments she had with her sister all those years ago had never left her mind even once.

The sense of nostalgia that would arise every time she watched Ami trail after her big brother never failed to make her pause either.

How easy it is to recognize the look of adoration on Ami’s face and how it had mirrored her own when they were younger, when Satomi was still around. The way Akira bends the corners of pages instead of using a bookmark, just like his mother. The soul searing insight they both possessed at times, the unexpectedly gentle way both Akira and Satomi cared. Akira yielding to Ami’s childish request of keeping ‘Wander Rabbits’ as his ringtone and making her stir fry was an echo of the way Satomi would always yield to Natsumi’s own requests. Begging to read the latest horror story first, pleading her sister to brush her long hair until smooth and to braid it into complicated hairstyles, Satomi had always helped her with her hair in place of their late mother, making dinner in place of their busy father.

Until one day she wasn’t around anymore either, and Natsumi had chopped off the excess length and smashed their old dining set in a fit of hysterical tears.

Though, Natsumi giggled, ice clinking against the glass in the silent room, she couldn’t remember a single moment in Satomi’s entire life where she willingly exercised, preferring to have her head in a novel rather than in a gym. Her older sister excelled in academics, always ranking near the top twenty in school while Akira typically emerged from lessons completely unscathed by knowledge.

It would have been easy to write off Akira as a stupid, violent eyesore, had she not seen the careful way he treated his mother and then Ami. Had she not seen the way her nephew attracted others to him, a steady reassuring presence inside the bar should any of the customers get too handsy, too rowdy on a rare busy night. Akira was stronger and brasher than Satomi ever was, quick to anger and even quicker to resort to violence but also quick to forgive once he had cooled down. Satomi, on the other hand was the queen of cold shouldering. her anger was the type to simmer and compound, grudges lasting for ages. Satomi never did forgive her for ruining one of her books by accident when they were children.

Besides, Natsumi mused, even he couldn’t escape the Kijima genetics completely. Akira’s hair was just as luscious as her sisters’ was when they were younger, a fact that never failed to elicit jealousy from Natsumi whose own hair required a multitude of deep conditioning treatments and special hair brushes to prevent breakage. Thank god, her adorable daughter’s dark hair took after her father rather than her own.

And not to mention, she paused, her eyes narrowing in displeasure and annoyance, Akira had definitely inherited Satomi’s troublesome behind.

It was only by the grace of genetics that Satomi’s figure had been as eye catching as hers. Even though Natsumi and Satomi were both never one to exercise, their metabolisms kept them thin. But while Satomi’s chest was much smaller than her own, her older sister’s bottom garnered many admiring glances.

Natsumi sighed and propped up her head with her fist, her kind and gentle bookworm of a sister was always too busy chasing after a new story to notice any of the men chasing after her. With her focus elsewhere, it fell onto Natsumi’s shoulders to chase away any bugs that tried to put their hands on Satomi. Her ability to dissuade potential suitors with cutting remarks and a fearsome glare were perfected by years of guarding her sister, which ended up not only gaining the interest of her future husband, but would also come in handy when she inherited the bar from him as well.

Taking a bigger sip of whiskey to soothe the surge of protectiveness that overcame her, she crossed her legs and steadily tapped her index finger on the bar counter. Staring at the bottles that line the wall, her eyebrows drew together and her mouth twisted downwards.

Her adorable nephew and adopted son might be equally oblivious as his mother was, either too focused on Ami or his own life, to notice any subtle growing interests he garnered. Even worse, her nephew’s preference for physical activity over reading books had only helped in contributing to the problem, giving him a boost in toning and firmness his mother never had. Amusing as it was to watch Seiji’s lingering glances and Hazuki’s gentle hinting fly over Akira’s head, he was still under her care. It didn’t escape her notice that even under the harsh glares and stern verbal warnings she gave her patrons, more than one of them had still cast admiring glances on Akira’s behind when he walked past them.

Relaxing her increasingly tight grip on her glass, she huffed in irritation and crossed her arms. Akira might be both legal and stronger than she could ever dream of, but if any of the patrons that came to Black Rabbit dared to place any unsavory ideas into his head, she would give them the verbal lashing of a lifetime.

Besides, Natsumi thought before smiling and downing the last of her whiskey, if anyone were to try and take advantage of Akira, neither Seiji nor Hazuki would remain calm. Akira’s new found friends wouldn’t stay still either, especially the cop who had helped in Ami’s disappearance.

Rising from her seat and placing her used glass in the sink, she turned off the light to the bar and locked up for the night. Breathing in the night air, she slowly made her way home, humming the catchy tune Ami always sang when she was in a good mood.

Natsumi still sometimes had trouble forgiving her sister for abandoning her and then begging for her help ten years later. The pitying glances and whispers had only tripled with Satomi’s disappearance, and the only person she could trust for years was herself. But Akira had become a blessing to both her and Ami’s life, and the cold thought of never meeting him only made forgiveness come easier.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t know how to work this into the story, but Akira washes his hair with the cheapest shampoo available and no conditioner, it’s still luscious and soft as hell. Any noogies are met with -10 damage due to hair cushion.
> 
> Thank you for reading the first fanfic I’ve ever written my entire life! Natsumi was angrier than I ever expected so the humor is lacking, but I hope you enjoyed my cooking! 
> 
> A big thank you to sil for holding my hand through it, but also im going to throttle you for dragging me into writer hell with you ( ˘꒳˘)


End file.
